the separation

i remember
packing my bags at her request
and driving
to a motel
on route one.
a shabby place with thin
walls
and smokers.
loud televisions
filling the hall.
i remember lying on the stiff
bed,
the hard pillow
and thinking
what am i doing here.
what has become of me
that I've landed here on
the edge
of nowhere.
i listened to a man in
the other room
coughing.
he was alone too.
the wall shook with his cough.
still dressed,
still unpacked,
i drove home at three
in the morning.
i went up the stairs
looked into my son's room.
kissed him
goodnight then when to
bed. i would never leave
again, but she would.